


Lightning, And I Burn Silver...

by Jenwryn



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-27
Updated: 2008-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-02 13:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione, Sirius, and a summer storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightning, And I Burn Silver...

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ceredwen. ♥
> 
> AU, Hermione is an adult. :)

> _...I would not exchange the bolt  
> For all the rest of life._  
> ~ Emily Dickinson.

They run in from the rain, the young woman laughing so hard that tears threaten to mingle with the sweat and the water already on her face, her husband fumbling in his jeans for the front door keys. He curses beneath his breath, and she laughs even louder, drunk on the summer and this unexpectedly happy thing that is her life, and the look on the neighbour’s face as they’d run up the driveway, her in bare feet, and the both of them soaked to the bone. For a moment there’s nothing but the low growl of imminent thunder, and a car sloshing past in a race to beat the weather to the highway, and Hermione laughing, bright lips teasing her husband as he searches his pockets. But then there’s a jangling of silver strips of metal with jagged teeth, and a second later they’re inside, and the screen door is clanging shut behind them with an echoing bang and a buzz of the mesh vibrating, slightly loose on its frame.

The almost-summer, late-spring air pushes impatiently against them in the narrow space of the hallway. Hermione slides her grimy toes against the cracked linoleum floor, and leans against a wall, her bare shoulders, beneath her camisole, sticking to the pale, old paint. She runs her hands through her damp hair, lifting it from her neck with a shake of the head, breathless from her laughing but her eyes still dancing brightly. Sirius lets his own eyes linger upon her for a heartbeat before he slips out of his shoes and turns to peer, just briefly, back through the front door, the screen dividing up the world into small squares of sight, and the sky beyond it stained prematurely black. Wind tosses the high heads of the eucalypts like wildly dancing cabaret girls, and fierce, heavy drops of long-awaited rain are already pinging down against the tin of the verandah’s roof and stirring up the dust of the front yard so that it catches against the palate of Sirius’ mouth. This country has no sense of moderation, he thinks, but that might very well be what he likes about it best.

Only a moment he looks, only the collection of some easy-paced heartbeats, but when he turns his gaze back to the hallway its that same, measuring beat that stutters in his chest as he watches his wife, watches as she finishes pulling her camisole over her head, untangling its straps from her hair with a mutter, and then starts on the buttons of her hipsters.

“I’m wet,” she says, by way of explanation, as she sees her husband’s eyes lapping at her increasingly bare body, and her lips curve with amusement as he smiles that slow, predatory, goddamn beautiful smile of his at the double interpretation he chooses to read into her words.

Outside, the thunder roars at the horizon, gnawing against the sky as grey streaks into the black. Inside, the air seems to push against Hermione harder, hot and heavy where it presses in through the old screen door, invisible currents shifting and swaying as her husband crosses the space of the hall between them and spreads his big, steady hands across her skin. Hermione breathes in and breathes out, as his fingers rush across her, rough, soft, rough, catching up her breasts, splaying thumbs across her nipples, grazing knuckles along her as though he’s never seen her skin before, as though they haven’t been married three years and counting, as though they aren’t standing in the hallway of the house that had belonged to her parents during their sojourn in Australia.

“Merlin, I love you,” he whispers in a hot puff of breath against her throat. He kisses her damp skin, his own clothes still caught around him, soaking and uncomfortable, but he really doesn't care. Hermione lets out a contented little moan and pushes his shirt upwards, her fingers grasping much harder than his do, and her teeth sinking in just above his collar, biting until he hisses with pleasure-pain. She licks at him and lets out a throaty, possessive chuckle.

Three years’ marriage to Sirius Black has bared Hermione of any traces of shame or prudery she might once have possessed, but she still has the presence of mind to murmur, “Door?” even as her husband’s body slides down along hers, his lips encircling her bellybutton and making the muscles in her stomach lurch and twitch. He just smirks and switches off the light so that they’re plunged into the murkily gleamed-gloom seeping in through the flyscreen along with the hot, sultry air that kisses at Hermione’s body just like her husband does. He says something that she can’t quite make out over the roll of thunder that shakes the very roof above them, and then Hermione is completely naked in the hallway, and her fingers are gripping her husband’s hair as she lets out a gasp and spreads her legs, breathing in deep as his mouth kisses, sucks, kisses against the inside of her thighs and then – _ahhhhh. _She clamps her hands tighter against him, tips her head back against the wall, her eyes half-closed as she gives herself up to the explorations of his lips and his thumbs and his tongue, so familiar and yet never ordinary, one of his hands pressing hard against her backside and pulling her in closer, as if she weren’t already tilting her hips against him achingly, undulating between his hand and his mouth and _oh god yes._ There is nothing left in the world except that mouth, that tongue, as it slides and curls and sucks and creeps inside her with his fingers and his lips, and she lets the shudders roll over her, her thighs now captured into enforced stillness by his firm hold, and her hands digging deeper into his scalp, unconscious revenge against him for stopping her swaying, and then the almost-unheard little gasps, the ones he loves so much, begin their exodus from her mouth to mingle with the thunder, until finally, oh Merlin fucking yes god finally, she gasps his name like a broken moan and her mind shorts out, consciousness collapsing and melting into the hazy hall, lit by lightning, as her pleasure overtakes her and she no longer knows what is her, and what is the silver shooting from the sky to the earth as the world is beaten by the storm around them, and she comes.


End file.
